


Dynamic

by merelydovely



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (Jehan is a dfab male beta), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fisting, Insecurity, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Sex Toys, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 11:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelydovely/pseuds/merelydovely
Summary: Montparnasse is in heat.The doctors had started refusing him more suppressants over a year ago, claiming he’d gone too long without letting his hormones rebalance themselves, but a little thing like lacking a prescription had never stopped Montparnasse from getting drugs.No, it’s not his medication that’s failing him. It’s his body.His body, which cravesalphaabove all, even when his beta lover is right there by his side.





	Dynamic

**Author's Note:**

> In case it's not clear enough in the story, Jehan is a DFAB trans guy, he just also happens to be a beta. Thus, given how the omegaverse typically works, there's essentially no difference between this Jehan and a real-world trans guy.

Montparnasse is in heat.

The doctors had started refusing him more suppressants over a year ago, claiming he’d gone too long without letting his hormones rebalance themselves, but a little thing like lacking a prescription had never stopped Montparnasse from getting drugs. 

No, it’s not his medication that’s failing him. It’s his body. His treacherous,  _pointless_  biology, sending him into this humiliating paroxysm of begging and keening, driving him mad with desire for something his mind knows it doesn’t want. 

 _Alpha_ , he has to stop himself from crying.  _Alpha, alpha!_

At some point during the fog of his heat, Jehan had showed up, breaking in by picking the lock just like Montparnasse had taught him. Montparnasse isn’t sure how long Jehan’s been here – isn’t sure how long he  _himself_ has been here, writhing miserably in his sheets – but all Jehan has done so far is pet him tentatively and murmur empty reassurances. Montparnasse vaguely remembers being coaxed to swallow some cool water. Jehan, perfect little beta caretaker.

It’s not helping.

“I –– I borrowed some undershirts from Enjolras,” says Jehan hesitantly. He’s holding a plastic bag, still zipped closed. “Combeferre said an alpha scent would––”

Montparnasse rips the bag out of Jehan’s hands, practically tearing it open to stuff his face in among the shirts. He breathes in, and for a shining, glorious moment, everything is all right.

But only for a moment.

He groans, flinging the bag away. “No,” he grinds out, letting his head fall back to the pillow with a loud thump. “Not  _him._ ” It’s a struggle to form sentences, but, luckily, Montparnasse’s most vital message is simple one:  _“Fuck me.”_

Jehan sucks in a breath. “But –– it won’t work. And anyway I’ve never –– You know it won’t work.”

 _Who fucking cares?_  Montparnasse wants to say.  _I have to ride it out one way or another, and just because you can’t cut it short with your magic cum or whatever the fuck doesn’t mean you can’t come along for that ride with me._

But he can’t seem to make his mouth do what he wants it to do, so instead he just repeats himself. “Fuck me,” he begs, curling toward Jehan, hand outstretched; “fuck me,” and he flips forward onto his front, grinding uselessly into the bed; “ _fuck me_ ,” and his hips lift, presenting. He can posture all he likes, but in the end he’s still reduced to this puling parody of desire. 

Normally, when they fuck, Montparnasse is the one in control. He wears a plug in his ass and a double-sided dildo in his cunt, hitting all the right spots inside himself as he drills Jehan through the mattress. Or he sits spread-eagled, directing Jehan’s mouth where he wants it to go, telling Jehan when he is and isn’t allowed to finger himself. Or he ties Jehan up and teases his little beta cunt with a vibrator until Jehan’s ready to come to the sound of Montparnasse’s voice telling him what a needy hole he is.

Jehan never does the fucking. Jehan has never worn a strap-on. Jehan hasn’t put so much as a fingertip inside Montparnasse, and normally Montparnasse likes it that way. 

But his cunt feels so goddamned empty right now, and his arms feel like rubber, and he wants Jehan. The voice in the back of his head is crying  _alpha_ ,  _alpha_. Montparnasse ignores it.

Jehan is still hesitating, his hand skating down Montparnasse’s back, more irritating than soothing now that Montparnasse has made up his mind. 

 _“Do it,”_  Montparnasse growls.

Jehan makes a helpless sound, but he finally gets off the bed. Montparnasse can hear him rummaging around in the general vicinity of the dresser, likely looking for a suitable toy. Montparnasse drifts for a minute, coming back to himself only when Jehan’s weight behind him makes the bed dip once again.

The press of smooth silicone against his entrance is familiar – Jehan has opted for the double-sided dildo Montparnasse usually uses to fuck  _Jehan_. It slides in far more easily than it normally does, his traitorous cunt too loose, too slick. Jehan manipulates the dildo somewhat half-heartedly, and soon enough Montparnasse is hissing at him to go faster,  _faster,_ do it  _harder_ ,  _god damn you_ , and when Jehan complies, panting with the effort it takes to maintain the new, more vigorous pace, Montparnasse has an epiphany: he, Montparnasse, helpless and feral omega,  _is the one in control of this scene_.

It hits him like a ton of bricks, which in turn triggers the first heat orgasm he’s had in half a decade. 

The muscles in his cunt twitch and spasm around the dildo, clenching far tighter than he remembers. Montparnasse whines low in his throat as Jehan maintains his pace, fucking Montparnasse through his climax. 

Jehan lets the dildo slide out again, but in Montparnasse’s lust-addled mind, the fog of desperate need has receded only slightly. He rolls onto his back, frustrated. There’s hardly any of the lassitude that normally follows an orgasm. He still feels keyed up, wired, like there’s static trapped under his skin. 

The dildo, glistening with omega heat-slick, has been set aside on one of the towels Jehan'd had the presence of mind to scatter across the foot of the bed when he arrived, and Montparnasse glares at the toy. His body knows he hasn’t found himself an alpha,  _knows_  he’s trying to cheat. 

Because heat isn’t just about sex. It’s about connection. Cum. Saliva. Skin-to-skin contact. 

“Need you to touch me,” Montparnasse says. “For the next one.” He tries for his usual imperiousness, but to his own ears it mostly sounds needy.

Jehan’s hands clench into fists where they rest on the sheets. “I’m not going to magically start smelling like an alpha if I just get closer to you,” he says, his voice full of barbed wire. 

“Did I  _say_  I wanted you to be a fucking alpha?” spits Montparnasse, finding his voice at last. “What is your  _damage?_ ”

Jehan doesn’t flinch. His face is drawn and pale, save for two bright spots of pink high on his cheekbones. 

“I’ll stay and I’ll help, if that’s what you think would be best,” he says, his words clipped. “But I’m not keen on getting thrown across the room like a bag of bad smells.”

And that –– that actually gives Montparnasse pause. 

He pushes himself up a little bit on his elbows to get a better look at Jehan where the beta is sitting on the end of the bed, holding himself unnaturally still. The olfactory system in betas boasts far lower sensitivity than that of either alphas or omegas, to the point that they might as well not have any pheromone sense at all; Jehan has no frame of reference for how difficult it would be for other dynamics to pick up on his comparatively weaker pheromone output.

Montparnasse has not only been drowning himself in Jehan for the past eighteen months, he’s also an omega in heat for the first time in half a decade. Weak beta pheromones be damned –– he could probably smell Jehan through the bedroom door.

“Betas, I swear to god,” grumbles Montparnasse. “Come here, idiot, before I get so horny I can’t think.” His rubbery arms are already trembling with exertion just from holding himself off the bed, but he extends one toward Jehan anyway, an invitation –– Jehan’s lip quivers –– and then Jehan throws himself at Montparnasse, collapsing on top of Montparnasse the way he always does, curling his head under Montparnasse’s chin.

“Like I don’t already know how you fucking smell,” says Montparnasse, rubbing his cheek against Jehan’s head to scent him. “Yeah, I can tell you’re not an alpha, and my heat wants an alpha, but I’m not my heat, alright? I didn’t throw the bag away because it wasn’t the right kind of alpha, I threw it away because it wasn’t  _you._ ”

Jehan shudders against him, a tightly coiled wire slowly unspooling. “Okay. Okay. It’s just –– it’s scary, seeing you like this. I don’t know what to do.”

“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” says Montparnasse. “Just stop worrying and do exactly what I tell you.” The heat haze is rising again behind his eyes, but this time he has a plan, and  _he_ is in control. 

Still flat on his back, he spreads his legs slightly.

“Now,” he says quickly, before he can lose the ability to form complex sentences, “I want you to slip your two longest fingers up my cunt and spread them wide apart –– make sure I’m nice and relaxed.”

Jehan sits up again, hurrying to obey, and under his questing hands Montparnasse can feel that he’s still heat-loose and sloppy with it. Somehow, though, when it’s part of a plan, part of  _his_  plan, it doesn’t seem so humiliating.

He hums, rolling his hips against the slight pressure. “Now take your hand out, and make a pinch grip with all four fingers,” he tells Jehan. Jehan shows him his hand wordlessly; Montparnasse nods. “Slide ’em in, slowly, palm up,” he says, and Jehan does. Montparnasse thinks _oh fuck me running_ and that’s the last coherent thought he remembers having for an indeterminate amount of time.

He can’t recall saying either “make a fist” or “fuck me with it,” but Jehan must have figured it out somehow, because when Montparnasse comes to, there’s a moment he thinks he’s been knotted. 

Jehan’s making tiny thrusts into him and Montparnasse is thrusting right back, rocking himself into Jehan’s fist with all the leverage his watery legs can muster. Montparnasse also gradually becomes aware that the animalistic grunting noises he can hear are coming from his own throat, but he can’t find the motivation to mask them with more attractive sounds. It feels too good, far too good to get sidetracked thinking about minutiae like vocalization. Not when Jehan’s fist is huge and warm inside him, not when Jehan’s forearm is splitting him open.

He has no idea how long he’s been writhing that way when he finally comes, so hard he spares a split second to worry he’s going to break Jehan’s wrist.

“Fuck,” he cries, and “fuh––oh,  _ffuck_ ,” again, louder, arching his back in a pervert’s approximation of bridge pose. 

He’s still shuddering with aftershocks a full minute later when Jehan asks, “Should I leave it in? Like I'm actually knotting you?”

Montparnasse makes a dismissive noise. “You’d leave a knot in after  _you_  came, not after  _I_ came,” he says, marveling at the way his brain seems suddenly five times as fluent in English. “I think I’m okay for now. Let’s take a nap, yeah?”

“How long do you think it’ll be? Your heat?” asks Jehan, once they’re cuddled up to each other again. “How long did yours used to last?”

“Without help? Like three days, sometimes four,” says Montparnasse, thinking back. “Fucking torture. With an alpha, usually under twenty-four hours. I’m hoping we can cut it back to forty-eight. Split the difference, you know?”

“I really don’t think that’s how it works,” says Jehan doubtfully. “Without alpha pheromones…”

“Fuck alpha pheromones,” says Montparnasse, with rather more confidence than he feels. “I’m no one’s bitch, especially not some fuckass chemical.”

Jehan frowns. “I wish you wouldn’t call bonded omegas ‘bitches,’” he says. It’s an old argument. Jehan doesn’t understand –– doesn’t know what Montparnasse had to do, to live free. 

But then Jehan yawns adorably, and Montparnasse has already forgotten about it.

“I just meant that the only one I belong to is you,” he says, and Jehan melts against him even further, smiling into a contented sleep.

Soon they’ll have to wake and start again, and again, and again, sometimes breaking to eat and drink, sometimes breaking to sleep, sometimes reverting back to one toy or another, and maybe at one point they'll have Jehan wear something Montparnasse can ride, but the important thing is not how long it takes, or how they pass the time, it’s that they know they can get through this ––  _together._

 

* * *

 

 

(…in the end, it lasts thirty-six hours.)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](https://les-amis-de-nsfw.tumblr.com/post/171305348662/ive-had-this-idea-in-my-head-all-day-but-i-know) on [@les-amis-de-nsfw](https://les-amis-de-nsfw.tumblr.com/):
>
>> I've had this idea in my head all day, but I know I'll never do anything with it, so. Do you think you could do something a/b/o with Jehan and Montparnasse? Specifically beta Jehan and omega Parnasse? Maybe they both have their insecurities and past (and current) problems, but they really want to be together.
> 
>   
> I referred to [this article](https://www.uberkinky.co.uk/essential-guides/beginners-guide-to-fisting.html) from UberKinky and [this article](https://www.traceycox.com/blog/2016/12/07/guide-to-first-time-fisting/) from TraceyCox for background information on fisting. Remember not to expect fisting to work this well on the first attempt, folks! I officially put their success down to omega heat magic.


End file.
